The Name My Mother Gave Me
by emilief
Summary: He's on the run again, this time from Modesto. Someone found out the truth and he's not about to stick around to see how they react. Charming's just another Northern California town.
1. Don't Think Twice It's Alright

_**A/N: **This story is quite an experiment. I've done lots of research to create the character of Cam, but I realize that there is so much still that I'm very ignorant about. Please let me know, either with a review or PM, if I at any time write something that is offensive or completely wrong. Some people will pick up on Cam's secret right away, but I think most will have to wait several chapters before things become clearer. My goal is to be as sensitive to the topic as possible while still crafting an interesting and exciting story - with a unique character to go right along with it.  
_

_Thank you to hazeleyedcurly for her incredible encouragement and feedback. Here we go again._

* * *

Cam wiped at the invisible tears on his cheeks and pushed the rattling Ford pickup to go faster. _Boys don't cry._ If he felt like laughing, he might have just then at the ridiculousness of that phrase. Modesto's city limits were quickly disappearing behind him, along with the memories he'd wasted making there in the past five months. It'd all been a fucking waste. Just like Salinas had been, and Alameda long before that.

The truck protested his rough gear shifting and the way his foot slammed into the clutch, but Cam paid it no mind. The thing had grumbled and complained every step of the way since the day he bought it at seventeen.

He stopped at a gas station in Lathrop to piss and get something with caffeine. It was another sweaty summer evening – one in a run of record California highs – and it stained his dirty white tank. Despite the fan spinning lazily from the station's ceiling, there wasn't a lick of coolness to be had inside the store. A blonde haired girl, loudly snapping bubble gum, looked up from the counter and eyed him with interest. Cam smirked despite his black mood. He knew he had that effect. Though not especially tall, he was willowy and lean. Hair that was cropped short at the sides was left long on top and constantly drifted in front of his blue eyes. He shoved back the long brown tendril and raised a brow at the girl.

"Bathroom?" he enquired.

Her eyes flicked to the crotch of his jeans before she lazily pointed a finger to a back hallway. Cam followed her direction. The fluorescent bulb needed changing – it sputtered out a staccato beat, lending a sickly light to the hall. In the intermittent brightness, Cam could see the two doors, one marked female and the other male. He paused for a moment.

The men's washroom was grungy and water-stained. Shoving open the door to a toilet stall, Cam sat and sighed contentedly as the urine he'd been holding in rushed out. He flushed and walked to the sink. The mirror was about the only clean thing in the room, despite a rusted metal corner, and it afforded a good look at the man standing before it.

Cam knew he passed well. He was pretty, but not too much to the point that it raised eyebrows, and years of practice made him good at hiding some of the softer features. He was no glass jaw, thankfully. He had a tiny, gentle nose that licked out at the end, but the swoop of brown hair he kept long at the front usually kept enough of a shadow on his face to make him look mysterious and brooding. His chest was flat, always had been. He had chicken arms, but he'd started working out here and there in the past few months. They had a wiry muscle to them now.

Shoving off from the counter, Cam walked back into the store. He picked up a pack of gum and asked for menthols. As soon as he paid, he ripped the packaging off the carton and slipped a cigarette into his mouth. He shot a sly smile and wink to the girl behind the counter as the door tinkled and closed behind him.

_Well it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe_  
_If you don't know by now_  
_And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe_  
_I'm on the dark side of the road_

Cam turned up the radio as the last of the day's sun turned away from his side of the world. The window was rolled down, and at 85 miles per hour, the wind whipped into the cab of the truck and whistled against his skin. Bob Dylan soothed him with a sorrowful growl.

_I wish there was something you would do or say_  
_To try and make me change my mind and stay_  
_We never did too much talking, anyway_  
_So don't think twice, it's alright_

Suddenly, he was tired for too many reasons. The Ford chugged beneath his feet and Cam swore when he saw the black smoke hitting his windshield. This was the last thing he needed right now. The tank was full and the oiled was freshly changed, but his pickup needed the kind of service that couldn't be done with fuel and a nozzle.

_Charming. Our Name Says It All. _He pulled his truck up to the side of the road and parked in front of the sign. It sounded like an obnoxious little town, but in the past four years, Cam had been to just about anything off of 205 and 680. He wasn't in a place to judge anymore. He never stayed anywhere long, anyway. Settling against the truck's bench seat, Cam wrestled a dirty blanket from underneath the passenger side and covered the goosebumps that had already began to freckle his skin. His head felt heavy. Tomorrow would be a new day and he could figure this mess out then.

It was time to start all over. Again.


	2. Adelaide Park

He could already feel the sunburn creeping up on his cheeks. Cam hugged the blanket closer around his body and tried to shield himself from the sun's pounding rays, even though being wrapped in a blanket was the last place he wanted to be in this heat. He'd left his truck and that annoying 'Welcome To' sign behind over half an hour ago. Or maybe it had been an hour. Cam couldn't quite tell. He broke his watch two months ago and had never bothered to get it fixed or even take it off. The tan on his wrist just deepened around the worn leather and stayed lily white underneath.

Distantly, he wondered if he looked like a travelling bum fresh from the pages of a Kerouac novel. He'd never liked reading "On the Road" in high school, but then again, Cam didn't like reading much.

However he looked, it was certainly attracting attention. A figure with a dirty blanket draped over his head and a cigarette burning away was evidently not the usual type of passerby on the main street of Charming.

A white cruiser pulled up beside him. Cam continued walking, ignoring it. He'd done nothing wrong, and he didn't have time for cop talk and ego stroking. The car started up again and rolled forward, slowly following beside him. Cam refused to turn his head and acknowledge this backroads-badge. He used the blanket like a pair of blinders, though he wasn't exactly sure where he was headed.

"Can I help you?" The passenger window had been rolled down and the officer sounded greatly amused.

"Nope." Cam kept his eyes forward. He hated cops, even the tiny fish like this one.

"What's with the blanket?" This guy wasn't giving up.

"I'm cold."

"Didn't think that was possible in this weather. Come on, I'll give you a ride to wherever it is that you're shuffling like that to."

Cam turned finally. The car stopped. His interrogator was balding, though he seemed to be resisting the fact based on the way he'd carefully combed the remaining seven hairs on the top of his head. That badge was polished to a bronze gleam in the way only small town officers had the time to do. The guy seemed harmless, if only a little nosy, and Cam was tired of walking around and looking like some kind of shaman.

He sat in the passenger seat and tugged the blanket off, throwing it into a heap at his feet.

"Where are we headed?"

"Dunno. Car repair shop, somewhere that does towing, I guess."

His new friend-with-a-uniform snorted. "I think I know of a place. Now put on your seatbelt."

Cam complied silently. This was certainly new – he'd never sat in the _front _of a police car. He was like the Rosa Parks of twenty-somethings.

The drive through town was so short that if he'd blinked, he would have missed it. Chief Unser – Cam had read the nametag that sat below that glittering badge – delivered him to a wide lot, sign proclaiming Teller-Morrow Auto Repair in red and gold. Cam's mood picked up considerably when he saw a large bearded man leaned over the open hood of a silver Camry.

"Thanks for the ride." He meant it. Chief Unser gave him a nod, but to his surprise, didn't drive off. Instead, he parked the car and walked over to the bearded man Cam had been eyeing, chatting him up like an old friend. With a shrug, Cam headed towards the office. Seemed the best place to start.

The woman inside was wrapped in tight black jeans, leather stiletto boots, and a jewel-encrusted black top. She seemed as defiant of the heat outside as Cam and his blanket. She barely glanced up from her pile of blue and yellow invoices.

"Look, sweetheart, we're not hiring. Save the resume and the summer job spiel."

"I'm not looking for a job." Cam answered, somewhat confused.

"No? Because I've had about five other teenage boys in already today. None of them needed car repair."

Yet another person assuming Cam was some kid. "I'm twenty-four. And I need a repair, except my truck's stranded out by the town sign." He kept the annoyance out of his voice, it was no use pissing off the manager of what could very well be the only repair shop in town.

The woman smiled. She was pretty, in a cougar-kind of way. "Sorry. You look younger, my mistake."

She brushed past him and opened the office door. "Opie!" she called out. The bearded man, still talking to the chief, looked their way. "Find Juice. Tell him he's got a tow." The man nodded, and he disappeared deeper into the garage bay.

Cam suddenly realized there might be an issue. "Wait, uh, ma'am? How much is this gonna cost me?"

"The tow is seventy five, inspection is forty, and then there's the repair costs."

Cam was silent, slowly counting in his head and tallying the small wad of bills buried in the back pocket of his jeans. A few short additions and subtractions later, he managed a "yeah, okay."

She seemed satisfied at his answer and strode over to beard man and his tattooed companion. He admired the pair from afar. They were exactly the kind of guys he liked to be around – all rippling muscle, scented with sweat and hard work, and intimidating as hell. Manly men. Even if Charming was a bust, these two sure weren't.

Cam stood up a little straighter when one of them came bounding in his direction. He seemed out of breath.

"Hey, so your truck's by the sign, right? Can I get your keys?"

Up close, he wasn't as intimidating as Cam had thought. His eyes were pretty, like a girl's. All long lashes and big brown puddles. They betrayed the image of thick arms straining at the short sleeves of his blue collared work shirt and the inky black designs that were embedded in his skin. Cam nodded slowly, almost entranced. He dropped his keychain into the outstretched hand, quietly saying goodbye to the ring of long forgotten motel rooms and old apartments.

As soon as he'd come, the man was gone again, doing some sort of speedy walk that seemed halfway between a sprint and jog.

"Don't mind him. He's always a little rushed." Gemma interrupted Cam's careful examination. The tow truck peeled out of the yard, leaving a black tire mark or two when the back tires skidded around the lip of the corner. She grimaced and muttered under her breath. "Gonna have to talk to him about that one, though."

Cam sat alone on a bench outside, thankful for the shade, and waited for the reunion with his Ford. The man with the tattoos made record time, returning to the lot with the truck trailing behind twenty minutes later.

With his duffle bag retrieved from the cab, Cam watched helplessly as the only other thing he owned was backed into an open garage bay. "Come back tomorrow," they'd said. Leaving the lot, he walked around aimlessly, prodding in the odd shop. The stares from the town's residents kept him moving quickly – he knew he was currently the product of two days without a shower, and just about everything he possessed was slung over his shoulder in a ratty bag.

_Adelaide Park. _Cam contemplated the thicket ahead of him. He'd been roaming for some time, off of the main strip, and the park appeared out of nowhere. It seemed quiet, which was exactly what he wanted right now. Examining the sign, he set off for the small creek that was promised to be a short walk away.

Cool water washed away grime and hurt. Cam sat naked in the creek for some time, relishing in the freedom of a summer day. He nearly panicked when a twig snapped nearby, but it turned out to be only a squirrel. Cam chuckled. After all his clothes had been washed in the running water and hung to dry, he lay back in the grass and napped away the afternoon.

No one knew his secret, except for the squirrel.


	3. Opie's Payment Plan

_**A/N: **Another short establishing chapter. I hope you, as the reader, will begin to pick up on little inconsistencies with Cam's character - if I'm doing my job right. I dropped in some hints in chapter 1 & 2, and a subtle note in here. All will be revealed in good time! And I do promise chapters will begin to run a lot longer._

_Reviews would be lovely._

* * *

The door jingled.

"Oh, um, hi there. Can I help you find anything?" A young, bookish girl looked up shyly from behind the counter, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses as she spoke. The frames seemed entirely too large for her face, and Cam didn't think they were honestly the most attractive style, but damn if she didn't have a cute smile to make up for them.

"Nah, just browsing," he replied.

"Okay, sure. My name is, um… Katy. Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure thing, darlin.' Name's Cam, nice to meet you." He smirked silently at the furious blush that rose up on Katy's cheeks, especially when he threw in the little name. Cam liked to imagine he was something of a modern day Jimmy Cagney – maybe even Burt Lancaster or James Dean – all swaggering with his imitations of the classic macho men of American cinema.

He walked over to the paper section, admiring the ornate covers of spiral-bound books begging to be filled, and the slick surfaces of packages of looseleaf sheets. Everything was sorted by weight and purpose. Watercolour, oil, pencil, acrylic. Cam selected a small sketchbook, matte black cover, and moved an aisle over to find some pens.

Calligraphy pens were his favourite because of how an imperceptible flick left or right transformed the flowing line. He knew there were probably other art supplies better suited, but he'd grown up sneaking his mother's writing pens and sketching with them. She'd always yelled but never really meant it. She framed his drawings and put them on display all over the house, proudly naming the artist whenever guests asked.

The sketchbook fell to the counter with a satisfying leathery _plop_. Two pens clinked together on top. Cam shuffled them towards Katy's register and looked at her expectantly. She held his gaze, brown eyes wide and nervous, seemingly uncomprehending.

"How much do I owe ya?" He smirked, again. Cam knew he probably drove people crazy with that self-satisfied grin, he'd been told so in fewer words before, but he couldn't help it. Katy's face flushed a deeper red than before – Cam hadn't really thought that possible – and she stuttered a reply that wasn't actually words as she entered the prices on the stickers into the till.

"That'll be $15.75," she mumbled.

Cam slid a twenty down. As she placed his items in a small plastic bag, he examined the receipt. Katy had taken twenty five percent off his bill.

He accepted his change and dropped it all into a jar labeled 'Tips'. Cam left with a casual, '_see you around.'_ He could practically hear the blush rising up on her cheeks again. The door jingled as it closed.

* * *

Teller-Morrow was bustling when Cam arrived to check on the status of a certain beat-up old Ford. Yesterday the only garage staff had been Opie and Juice – he already had their names memorized after hearing them once – and Gemma in the office. Evidently that'd been a quiet day, compared to this.

He spotted them immediately. Opie was handing over the keys to the same silver Camry he'd been working on before to a stooped old man who attempted to pat Opie on the shoulder, but only really reached his elbow. Juice was feigning hitting another man – grey goatee and scarred cheeks – with a large wrench, both of them laughing.

Gemma's distinctive high heeled boots were clicking his way, and Cam noticed – not for the last time – how she seemed to tower over him even though he was still an inch taller.

"Truck's got a few issues," she explained. "Opie can go over it with you, but I'm just warning you, it ain't gonna be cheap, darlin.'"

Cam shrugged. "Haven't really got a choice."

She gave him a look of understanding and pointed over to Opie, who was in the process of gently closing the driver's side door for the stooped old man and nodding goodbye.

Cam strode over, hoping he looked confident, and trying to hide the grin that threatened to crack his face in half. He introduced himself and shook Opie's hand, who led him over to a bay where his truck was parked.

" – several issues –"

Attention was something hard to keep a hold of – Opie smelled like sweat already, even though it was only ten am, and deodorant that was probably marketed as being _alpine fresh. _Charming was a fuck of a long way from any ski hills, that was for damn sure. A mechanical scent hung heavy in the air, though Cam wasn't certain whether it was just the shop or the grease and motor oil that streaked Opie's blue work shirt. Perhaps both.

" – clutch is blown –"

Fuck, he was perfect. Everything Cam wanted to be and everything Cam wasn't. Those arms looked like they could pick his skinny body up and break him over a bent knee.

" – two weeks delivery –"

Opie's eyes were a curious mix of greens and golds and browns, surprisingly gorgeous spheres that didn't seem to match the gruffness of the rest of him. His nose was slightly bent at the bridge. Cam wondered if someone had broken it in a fight – he wouldn't be surprised if the other guy came out of it far worse than just a busted beak.

" – almost be cheaper to buy a new truck –"

The mechanical terms rattling around, names of parts and suppliers and problems, still weren't registering. Cam knew he should be listening but instead he was simply nodding along, just often enough to keep Opie talking.

" – and Gem can set you up with a payment plan if it's gonna be an issue."

Cam was in the middle of admiring the way the tattoo on Opie's neck ate up into his beard and wishing he could grow one when it registered that Opie had stopped talking.

"Um, what?" he said stupidly.

"I was guessing this is going to run you about eight hundred, and Gem can set you up with a payment plan if you can't pay that in full," explained Opie.

Eight hundred was about five hundred more than Cam had to his name right now – it was definitely going to be an issue. The bulge of bills that normally seemed so prominent in his back pocket suddenly felt feather-light. "Yeah, okay. I'll talk to Gemma about it. Thanks, man."

Opie shook Cam's hand and walked off, already focused on the next customer. Cam sighed. It was easy to pretend in his head that he could fit in here, but in reality, men like Opie wouldn't give him the time of day unless it was counting towards their paycheck.

Cam stopped in at the office before leaving the lot, paid up the seventy-five for the tow and forty for the inspection, and informed Gemma he'd have to use to the payment plan for the rest of the truck repairs.

Later that night, as Cam lay in Adelaide Park again, he wondered how far he could get from Charming in two weeks time without paying the promised eight hundred bucks. He didn't like to cross a man like Opie, and definitely not a woman like Gemma, but Cam was good at escaping searching eyes.


	4. CL Nilsson

"Juice, I need you to do some of your computer stuff for me. New customer, out-of-towner, no line of credit, wants to set up a payment plan. He seems like a nice enough kid but I'll be damned if he tries to pull something."

"Yeah, sure thing, Gemma." Juice examined the paperwork she set down on his desk. _Cam Nilsson, blue 1977 F-250 Ranger_. The signature was a series of loopy curls at the bottom of the page, far different from Juice's personal scrawl. "Hey, was this the truck I towed yesterday? That guy looked like he was still in high school, maybe his mom can pay for his repairs." Juice grinned but Gemma rolled her eyes.

"Apparently he's twenty-four."

Juice didn't believe it, but he shrugged and settled back into his office chair. Forty minutes later the printer was humming and spitting out several sheets of paper. It looked like Cam, who was curiously listed only as C.L. Nilsson on all his paperwork, was a Cali native.

Born March 16th, 1981, in Cambria to Malte and Stacey Nilsson. His parents ran a bed and breakfast out of the house called Swedish by the Sea, a nod to Malte's heritage. Juice checked out the B&B's website – looked like something straight from Geocities, could really use a redesign - noting in the family section there was curiously no mention of a C.L. Nilsson; only Malte, Stacey, and their two young daughters. That in itself didn't need to be much of a red flag. Families had fall outs all the time, fractured and disowned. Juice was empathetic.

More digging turned up a social security number and California issued driver's licence, which would be good enough for Gemma. Juice noted that Cam's driver's license and birth certificate had both been reissued just over three years prior. Again, not a red flag, they could have either been stolen or lost in a fire.

Cam didn't seem to have any permanent address, but withdrawals from his banking account showed amounts taken out on a monthly basis and being paid to rental-property owners in cities ranging from San Francisco, Alameda, Salinas, and most recently, Modesto. The guy was quite the traveler, but at least he paid his rent on time. Gemma would be happy to hear that.

Juice stuffed the paperwork into a manila envelope and chucked it on Gemma's desk. His favourite blonde croweater had just showed up and her tits were far more interesting than searching for more intel on C.L. Nilsson.


	5. The Trager Family Nose

_**A/N: **Two things to address! First off, I've added a new A/N to Ch. 1 as of Jan 30/13. To paraphrase it: I've done (and continue to do) a lot of research to create the character of Cam, but recognize there are still so many things that I'm ignorant of. So, to anyone who reads this story, if you are in any way offended or find an inaccuracy within this work, please let me know via review or PM. It'd be a massive help and I welcome all feedback. (This likely won't come into play for at least a few more chapters.)_

_Secondly, thank you thank you thank you to laughingwarrior and hazeleyedcurly. They are both talented authors of their own regard and have been invaluable aids with pushing me to contemplate & continue this story. And thank you to anyone else who has previously reviewed, followed, or favourited - it keeps me motivated. _

_Merci! - E_

* * *

"What are you drawin'?" The Scottish voice interrupted the smooth line Cam had been in the process of laying down on paper and startled him. The pen skidded. Cam swore softly. "Ah, shit. Sorry, lad."

Cam looked up in surprise to see who exactly was apologizing to him. Nudging his tinted aviators onto his forehead, he found himself face to face with the man Juice had been jokingly trying to hit with a wrench two days ago. The man was much older than both Juice and Opie, notable in his blue collared TM staff uniform (a detail not lost on Cam) for the two scars that puckered along his cheeks. It was almost as if a cooing auntie had pinched him long ago and left permanent dents in the soft flesh.

"Don't worry about it. I barely started this one; it's easy enough to start over." Cam held out his sketchbook as if to prove his point. It was the beginnings of a cartoonish sketch of a truck that looked much like his own, sitting in a garage bay under a large Teller Morrow sign. He'd begun to draw the grille of the truck like a mouth, and turned the headlights into eyes. A line jumped across the front of the truck where Cam's pen had hit in surprise.

"Looks good. You got the sign right."

"Thanks." Cam felt shy, and he wasn't sure why. Lots of people had seen his drawings. He was no Bob Ross but he thought he did pretty well for himself with cartoons.

"M'girl Kerianne draws too. Paints, rather. I sent her a set of oils for her birthday." The man seemed proud.

"Oh, wow. Neat. I don't paint really, I just like to draw cartoony stuff. Faces, cars, things like that." Cam flipped to a different page in his sketchbook. "I drew this one yesterday, just some woman I saw at the grocery store." Lines drew together and flew apart on the page, curving to create a large woman out of black ink. Her exaggerated face was creased in a permanent scowl and a protruding mole stood out over her left eyebrow.

Cam flinched when the man started laughing. He began to close his sketchbook, feeling hurt and offended, but the man put out his hand to stop him. "No, no, boy. Wasn't laughing at your drawing. You got her perfect – that's Mrs. Peterson. She's a right ol' bitch." The man laughed again and Cam found himself joining in, even though he had no idea whether Mrs. Peterson was a bitch or not.

"Name's Chibs," said the man, finally extending a hand. Cam shook it. It was a nice firm grip - masculine and strong without trying to show off.

"Cam," he replied. "My truck's the blue Ranger over there, it's pretty messed up."

"Y've got that for damn sure. Lots o' work to be done on that old girl."

"Chibs!" Their conversation was interrupted by another man. Cam was just glad he didn't have a pen in his hand this time – evidently the picnic bench next to the garage wasn't meant for peaceful sketching. "Ooh, what are we drawing?" The man didn't give Cam time to reply, the sketchbook was already snatched up and being examined. He flicked through the pages.

Chibs sounded annoyed, though he didn't much look it. "You're bein' rude, Tig. Give the boy back his sketchbook – he's a payin' customer, doesn't need your sass." Tig chuckled but didn't hand back the sketchbook. He was examining one of the pages intently. Cam wanted to crawl inside his head, be invisible, or suddenly burst into flames. _Something, oh God, something_. He knew exactly what page Tig was looking at.

"Hey, this is Opie!" Tig exclaimed. "It's Ope, isn't it?" His blue gaze shifted from the sketchbook to Cam, though he didn't seem angry, which was what Cam had expected. The breath he hadn't realized he was holding slowly released, and Cam took in the newcomer. He was immediately drawn to Tig's face. His eyes were a much more intense shade of blue than Cam's own – almost as if someone had poured a bottle of anti-freeze right into his irises.

"Er, yeah. I like to draw faces. People I see and stuff."

"Draw me." Tig handed back the sketchbook and stood back, hands on his hips and a shit-eating grin on his face. Chibs looked greatly amused as he took a seat next to Cam on the bench.

Cam didn't reply or laugh. He turned to a fresh page. Uncapping his pen, he quirked his head slightly to the left, examining Tig. The calligraphy pen dropped to the paper, dashing and running about, creating an exaggerated square jaw and a mass of wild black curls atop. Medusa herself would be proud. Chibs leaned forward, watching with interest as Cam continued to sketch.

The head took up nearly the entire page. The nose was almost beak-like and gave way to thick black facial hair. A tiny body jutted out from under the chin, hip cocked to the side, extending with long legs clad in comically flared black jeans. Cam fleshed out a few more details, but the entire process was over in several minutes. He held out the page, confident in his ability. Chibs was snickering.

"You've definitely captured the Trager family nose, kid. Can I have this?" Tig looked pleased.

"Yeah, 'course you can." Cam smiled.

Tig reached forward and ruffled Cam's hair, which made Cam blush slightly. He had that same scent of oil and effort as Opie, and Cam found himself imagining what it'd be like if Opie were to put a hand out and touch him the way Tig just had... Chibs shuffled next to them and pulled a pocket watch out of his pants. He stood. Cam thought a pocket watch was a strange choice in accessory for a mechanic, but kept his mouth shut. His brain was all over the place right now, so it was probably for the best if he didn't voice any thoughts until he could get a handle on himself. He didn't want to say something stupid in front of these guys.

"C'mon Tigger. Lunch's over. Nice meetin' ya, Cammy-boy."

Cam gave them a nod as they walked off and felt proud when he saw Tig walk over to the garage and wave his new picture in some guy's face.

He spent the rest of the afternoon sketching away lazily. Some of the mechanics ambled over every once and a while, never staying more than a few minutes, examining the sketchbook and introducing themselves. He always thought it was funny the effect drawing people had. Everyone loved to know how the world interpreted them, wanted to see if the flaws they saw came down to paper. It was different than looking in a mirror.

His caricatures weren't meant to be exact replicas of their inspirations; rather, he took the most unique or largest features on someone's face and blew them up to cartoon size. By the end of the day, he'd met several new mechanics and drawn countless characters that hung around the lot. His sketchbook was quickly filling – he'd have to head back to that little art supply store again soon and flirt for another discount with the mousy-looking chick.

* * *

_Several days later._

Cam licked his lips. They felt sunburnt and scabbed, peeling at the corners, and tasted vaguely bloody. He splashed water from the creek on his face and washed the sting away. He groaned and cracked his back, shaking the last of sleep from his body. He smiled. He liked it here, even if the morning sun always left him a little weather-beaten.

Adelaide Park was beautiful, especially in the morning – he'd woken up to see nine of those so far. He didn't see the point in wasting money on a skeevy motel room when he could curl into a bed of long grass in the evening with a bubbling creek beside him telling a nighttime story. It was quite poetic, really, and Cam wasn't even a poet.

His two weeks in Charming were almost up. He'd spent nearly every day either sketching and shooting the shit with the guys around the garage or exploring the park. He went back to the art store once to buy a new, larger sketchbook and two new pens – Katy hadn't said a word to him but she gave him twenty five percent off again. Although he'd contemplated keeping the savings to help pay for his truck, he plopped the extra five bucks in her tip jar anyway, same as before.

Cam didn't actually intend on ever paying for his truck repairs so it didn't really matter. Eight hundred bucks was a hard pill to swallow, and Cam had tried to look for a job. Not that he'd really put any effort, but he _had_ sort of tried one afternoon. Charming was a nice little town, lots of small businesses and not a corporation or franchise in sight, but the people were tight knit and evidently still suspicious of the guy who showed up to town wearing a blanket ten days ago. His resume was accepted with narrowed eyes.

He'd grown up in a town much smaller than this and he didn't like it – not one bit. Townies were always too nosy for their own good. Back in Modesto, Cam had gotten a job at a local fast food place by practically walking in the door, no questions asked.

Thoughts threatened at the back of his head and Cam pushed them off, locking them away. He didn't want to think about Modesto anymore. All his focus was on Charming for the next four days until his truck was fixed, and then wherever the next California town he skipped off to was.

A rumble growled low in his belly. His diet often veered towards starvation, mainly because he was cheap. He bummed several free coffees from the pot at the garage every day since he was an eight hundred dollar customer (even if he never intended on paying) and he'd become such a fixture on the bench there that Gemma usually brought him a sandwich if she'd bought lunch for all the staff. Bobby sometimes brought muffins by the garage, which Cam always enthusiastically accepted. Smoking helped curb his appetite even though he knew it'd be cheaper to buy a couple groceries than to another carton of Newports. Probably wouldn't kill him as fast either.

He didn't solely depend on the charity of Teller-Morrow, however. Growing up in a small seaside town, he'd learned how to fish, even if the exact directions were a little hazy now. He wasn't very good and there wasn't much to catch in the creek, but he'd cooked up a few silvery small fish several nights in Adelaide Park. He was intent on stretching his money – people may have called Cam a lot of things, but unresourceful was not one of them.

* * *

_4 days later._

"Hiya Katy-cat. How're ya?" Cam leaned on the counter with his usual smirk, watching Katy fumble as she attempted to replace the roll of till tape in the register.

"H-hi Cam. I'm good. How are you?" Her voice was a squeak.

"Oh, the usual." Cam's comment left Katy wondering what his '_usual'_ was, but he didn't give her long to dwell on it. He hit her with unexpected news. "Guess this is goodbye today, gonna miss me?"

"You're leaving?" Her voice was surprisingly strong - she didn't stutter, though her eyes were wide behind her ugly wire glasses. The heavy prescription magnified them and made it seem like there were two massive cue-balls sitting in the sockets of her tiny face rather than eyes.

"Aw, well, you don't have to act so happy about it," joked Cam. "The road calls my name, y'know."

A soft '_oh'_ was all Katy managed in reply. Her face fell. Cam didn't really know what to say now – he thought it was fun to embarrass her a little, but he hadn't expected her to actually… care. No one ever cared if Cam came or went.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "guess I better get on my way. Just thought I'd say bye." He walked towards the door, and as he opened it, a small hand grazed against his elbow.

"Wait," said Katy. "Take this." She handed him a small red notebook. "Write about your travels. M-maybe someday I can read it." Cam held the notebook in his hands. He leaned down and gently kissed Katy's cheek, pressing a thank you between his lips. She held her cheek as if she'd been slapped, watching him walk down Crestview and out of her life.

…

His hands ran over the steering wheel of his faithful old Ford. The blue paint was still chipping off the hood and there was rust creeping on the grille and every wheel well, but his baby felt brand fucking new. The engine thrummed healthy under his feet.

"Woo!" Cam whooped as he revved the engine. The mechanics looked on in amusement. Juice had a huge goofy grin on his face, but when did he ever not? Even Opie looked he might just have a smile. "Thanks guys." He fist-bumped several of the men who'd been responsible for either repairing it or keeping him company over the past two weeks. For a moment, he forgot that he was about to leave this all behind and skip town. In a while, they'd resent him, but not right now.

As Cam drove out of the lot and towards the highway, Gemma walked swiftly out of the office towards Opie. She grabbed him and spoke lowly so no one else could overhear.

"Follow him on your bike. I want to know where he's off to – kid still hasn't paid a cent for that repair."

Opie nodded. He unbuttoned his TM shirt, threw on his Sons leather, and started his Dyna with a roar.


	6. Spaghetti Western

_**A/N:** I present to you chapter 6, in which emilief writes cheesy action. Feel free to review and tell me I'm the next Michael Bay. Actually, I'd like to think this chapter is kinda humourous, just because of Juice acting like a goof - I feel like he does that when he's worried. Tries to pretend everything's a big joke. Poor baby, I love your tender heart. Also, the noodle-egg trick mentioned in this chapter actually works and got me through my first year of university. I do not actually recommend eating solely kimchi for 8 months, but hey, just sayin'._

_One last thing! Would anyone be interested in seeing a little photo album on Imgur (image hosting site) of some of Cam's sketches?_

* * *

Cam had the radio turned up so loud in his truck that he didn't hear the Harley bearing down on him, catching up the distance as he whipped down number 99.

He felt like he'd gotten away with murder, even though robbery might be a more apt way to describe it. Katy's red leather notebook lay on the seat next to him, sweating in the midday sun, and the handwritten bill that Gemma had handed him lay crumpled inside the cover flap. Two more keepsakes from another town to throw in with all the rest.

"Huh?"

A thick plume of smoke was steadily rising from further down the highway. Cam turned down the music, as if quieting one sense would allow him to see more clearly with another. His foot became leaden on the gas pedal and the truck ratcheted up a gear.

He was a few hundred feet away from the flame. Thick smoke was making it difficult to see what the cause of the fire was – and then a gust of wind cleared the air for a split second. A massive cargo truck was overturned, black liquid spilling out. It reminded Cam of blood. A small car was nosedived into the trailer wheels.

There was no time to think or assess personal safety. The Ford was still running on the side of the road as Cam shoved the door open, sprinting to the car. _Shit_. It was the silver Camry from Teller-Morrow. Opie had been repairing it two weeks ago when Cam arrived in Charming.

The same stooped old man was inside the car, now with blood oozing sickeningly from a gash on his forehead where the steering wheel had slammed. Cam wanted to cry. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…" He muttered and swore it like a mantra, trying to focus on the words rather than give in to how afraid he was.

Cam's hands trembled as he moved his hands to pry open the mangled door. They coursed and throbbed with adrenaline. The driver's door was a lost cause. He tried all the passenger doors, both front and back. All locked._ Goddamn old people believing someone's gonna jack their mid-90s model car_… He swore some more.

Seeing no other option, he climbed onto the hood of the car, braced his body for impact, and fell onto the windshield. It shattered beneath him. Opening his eyes and feeling slightly dazed, Cam looked around. He was inside the car now, uncomfortably wedged on top of the stick shift. He heard the roar of a motorcycle - though he couldn't even remember what a motorcycle was right now. It was sensory overload.

"Come on, man, wake up!" He felt his voice growing hoarse. Unbuckling the old man from his seatbelt, he tried to pull the limp body towards the passenger side, shoving his feet at the latch and unlocking it. The door swung open. Opie stood there – _where did he come from?_ wondered Cam – and he effortlessly grabbed the man from Cam's chicken arms.

"Get out!" he shouted at Cam. In a daze, Cam followed Opie, who was holding the old man in a fireman's carry towards the still-running Ford. He tenderly placed the man on the bench seat and threw a cellphone at Cam. "Drive further down the road – it's not safe to be this close to the crash. I don't know what's coming out of that truck. Call 911, then press speed dial 2. It's Jax, tell him what happened."

Opie disappeared, sprinting back towards the cab of the cargo truck. Cam watched, dazed. A weak moan from inside the Ford snapped him back to reality. He had to get out of here and get help.

* * *

"_'Unemployed vagabond attempts to save local man from crash on highway_.' See? I told you Mrs. Peterson was a right ol' bitch. Never has anything nice to say 'bout anyone, and o' course she gets to write the local headlines. _Attempts_ – psh!"

Cam blinked. He could hear laughter coming from somewhere around him, but everything felt muffled.

"How ya feeling, hero?" This was a different voice. The first one was… Chibs. His head felt fuzzy as he tried to remember names. Who was talking to him? Cam moaned. His head really hurt.

"What?" he finally managed to say. The word felt slow and stupid as it came out of his mouth, all his movements staccato.

"He speaks!" Chibs and Juice – Cam figured it was Juice, as him and Chibs always seemed paired together – began chuckling. "Here, lemme check your heartbeat." Juice grinned down at him and pulled a stethoscope out of his back pocket.

"Where'd you get a stethoscope?" Chibs asked.

"Stole it from the hospital. I've always kinda wanted one." Juice shrugged and moved the bell against Cam's chest, plugging the earpieces in. Cam tensed. Juice's palm was flat over the end of the stethoscope, pressing it against Cam's breastbone. He knew he was flat-chested, but what if Juice still noticed the slight swell under his hands?

"We have mechanic's stethoscopes around the shop," pointed out Chibs.

"Yeah, but being a doctor is cooler. Plus, I've never really gotten the hang of the whole 'listen to the car' thing. Opie's the vehicle whisperer around here."

Cam wasn't sure if they even remembered he was still here – not that he knew where here was. He couldn't remember a thing.

"Sounds good to me! Still beating, at least." Juice gave Cam a hearty slap on the knee. It jerked. "Reflexes are in working order too," he added.

"Uh, thanks." Cam sat up and nearly vomited from the effort. His head felt worse than any hangover.

"Careful there, lad." Chibs moved to steady his shoulders. "Head's probably still hurtin' from the fall."

"What happened?" Cam asked. He'd really appreciate it if someone would explain what the fuck was going on. And get him some ibuprofen, while they were at it.

"You freaked out when the truck exploded and passed out like a wuss," said Juice. Chibs shot him a look.

"It was shock. Y'were on the phone with Jax when the blast hit. Didn't hurt ya, but you passed out."

"Like a wuss." Cam swung a weak fist at Juice for the comment, though he dodged it easily.

"And you hit your head on the pavement."

"Ah," said Cam. "Explains why I have the worst headache right now."

"Oh right!" Juice smacked his forehead and then dug around in his pocket, extending two small white pills. "Top shelf shit. Don't ask questions." Cam gobbled them up gratefully, not bothering to wait for water to wash it down. He hoped he could get in a few more questions before whatever he wasn't supposed to ask questions about knocked him out.

"So, uh, remind me why I was on the phone with Jax?"

"You _really_ don't remember anything. Basically, there was an accident on the highway. Old guy tried to pass a semi and completely misjudged the lanes. Drove right into it. The semi flipped and that's about when you showed up – pulled some hero move and got the guy out of the car and away from the accident. Luckily Ope was nearby and he got the truck driver out too, but they didn't get far enough away in time to escape the blast. The truck was carrying petroleum." Juice spoke so fast that Cam barely caught it all, though the last lines made his heart clench and his head thud painfully. _Opie didn't escape the blast. _

"Opie… Opie's dead?" Cam felt his eyes well up.

"No! No, no, no." Juice rushed to explain but Chibs cut him off.

"Opie's in the hospital. He's got some burns so they've put him in a coma for now, but he'll be right as rain. Has a wife and kids looking out for him, after all."

"Oh. That's good then. I'm glad he's okay." He was, really. He hadn't expected Opie to be married, though. Or be a father.

Cam's eyes began to feel heavy. Juice might not be a very good doctor, but evidently he was an excellent pharmacist. He fought against the oncoming sleep.

"Well, we should get going, let you nap…" Chibs began.

"Wait! Where am I?"

"Oh. You're at my house. Figured you didn't have medical so I offered up my spare bed so you could at least get some rest. Hope that's okay." Juice's face scrunched up, deep concern etched in his brow. He was kind of cute when he did that, Cam noticed.

"I don't. Thanks, Juice." He yawned. "Thanks, Chibs-s-s…" Cam was out to the drugs like Sonny Liston against Muhammad Ali.

* * *

He woke up sometime later, his head feeling marginally better. The house was quiet.

Padding along the cold tile, Cam gingerly opened the door to his room and walked out into a hallway. He was somewhere in Juice's house and admittedly, he was curious. Not to mention hungry.

The hallway wasn't long, but there were a few doors leading off it. A bathroom which was bare save for a hair clipper left on the counter, a small office crammed with computer parts and various blinking towers of electronics, a closet with next to nothing in it, and a room which Cam assumed was the master. The sheets were a plain dark grey and there wasn't a throw pillow in sight – the bed was even made. The only real decoration on the wall was a pull-out Halo poster, the kind you'd find folded inside a magazine. Cam contemplated opening Juice's closet and checking out his clothes, but he decided he was being creepy enough already. Plus, he could already guess at what he'd find inside. In his two weeks of hanging around the shop it'd become evident that Juice exclusively shopped at the army surplus and 'tight black t-shirt' store. The latter was obviously fictional, but it was honestly about the only clothing the guy ever seemed to wear, aside from his TM work uniform.

Juice's room seemed to be more proof that he didn't have much in the way of possessions and was tidy to the point of minimalist. Cam carefully closed the door behind him and continued down the hall. He found a small kitchen, which opened into a living room, and a sliding glass door that led to a modest patio (with no furniture) overlooking a tiny yard.

Bored with the house tour, Cam opened the cupboards, hoping to appease his protesting stomach. Juice honestly had the worst selection of food he'd ever seen – Cam was certain he'd eaten better on food stamps. Then again, he'd only really been on stamps and handouts for two months a couple years ago - hardly recent enough to accurately remember how bad 'free' food was.

The guy ate a lot of kimchi noodles, that much was evident. He had an entire cupboard dedicated to protein powders, health shakes, and energy drinks. His fridge had a carton of eggs, leftover Chinese food, ketchup, and a container growing something that honestly just looked like a patch of grass.

Cam sniffed suspiciously at the Chinese but decided not to trust pork with an indeterminate age. Sighing, he set to boiling a pot of water and making a package of instant noodles. _Simulated chicken flavour! _the package assured him. Pouring the noodles into a bowl, he was reminded of a little tip he'd learned from hanging around some college students in a dormitory one night after a party.

_"Crack an egg into the noodles, man! Totally adds protein. I mean, I'm pretty sure you're getting at least two food groups there."_

Eggy noodle bowl in hand, he set out for the couch. The couch gave a low growl as he attempted to sit down, and in his surprise, some soup slopped over the side and burned his hand. Cam swore a blue streak. An old mutt lay on the seat, plenty of gray flecking her golden coat and making her almost invisible against the tan coloured couch.

"Hey, nice doggy," he said, trying to be soothing. He reached a hand out for the dog to sniff. It bared a set of teeth. "Your problem, not mine," he muttered. Cam sat cross legged on the floor, far away from the old bitch, and examined Juice's movie and game selection. It was impressive, to say the least. There had to be at least a thousand titles, all organized in alphabetical order on various shelves, not to mention several binders filled with bootleg copies.

Cam found a copy of an old spaghetti western starring a young Clint Eastwood. He loved Clint Eastwood. He was a stoic, macho, all-American man. Yet another kind of man that Cam aspired to be someday. He loved the actor's easy confidence and masculinity.

As the end credits rolled, he found himself feeling tired again, even though he'd barely been awake for two hours_. I just need to rest my eyes_, he told himself. Cam curled into a ball on the carpet and fell asleep, thoughts of cowboys and tight black t-shirts and Opie crowding his dreams.


End file.
